


slice of heaven

by rocketshiptospace



Category: Mortal Instruments Series - Cassandra Clare, Shadowhunters (TV)
Genre: Cooking, M/M, MasterChef AU, apple pies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-06
Updated: 2016-05-06
Packaged: 2018-06-06 19:19:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,537
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6766630
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rocketshiptospace/pseuds/rocketshiptospace
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's late at night in the MasterChef house, and Alec can't sleep. Seems he isn't the only one. </p><p>or, in which Alec and Magnus are both contestants in MasterChef, and late night cooking brings them closer together.</p>
            </blockquote>





	slice of heaven

**Author's Note:**

> hello i love masterchef A LOT
> 
> anyway this thing is mostly inspired by my amazing friend [lev](http://sparklesthewarlock.tumblr.com) (my light, my rock, my sun) who also made [this super cool cover](http://aleclwb.tumblr.com/post/143955923336/slice-of-heaven-magnusalec-5k-its-late-at) for the rebloggable version (nice)
> 
> I HOPE YOU LIKE IT!! :D

It’s dark in the MasterChef house. Which is not really weird, considering it is three in the morning. Most of the contestants are asleep, but Alec finds himself slipping out of his bed into the hallway, leaving Simon snoring in the bed across from his. He pads through the empty hallways in pajama pants and a t-shirt as his mind keeps milling over the comments he’d gotten from the jury today.

_‘Your food tastes good, Alec, but it sort of looks like something that was thrown on a plate by a five year old.’_

_‘Food is about using all of your sense. So not only smell, and taste, but also sight. And this plate, no matter how delicious, is rather unappealing.’_

Alec sighs and rakes his hand through his hair. He’d made it through, but only barely, and he knows the next time he presents the judges with a plate like that, they won’t be as forgiving.

The frustrating thing is that they’re _right_. Alec knows that his presentation isn’t his strong point, has never been. Even before he joined MasterChef his food was something that tasted good, but looked generally horrible. His sister often made fun of it, but it was not like she had much to say in the matter. Izzy had the ability to burn _water,_ after all.

Coming here he hoped it might change, like he’d someone magically regain the ability to plate, but so far he continuous to be pretty shit at it. He thinks the main reason of it is that he just doesn’t really _care_. He’s so focused on making something taste good that he doesn’t really have time left to make it _look_ good.

His feet, very unsurprisingly, carry him to the kitchen, but he freezes in the doorway when he finds someone is already there.

It’s Magnus. Magnus, Alec had quickly learned, was probably his biggest competition. His cooking style was Asian inspired, with complex flavors and impressive spicy levels. It was often light, minimalistic, and his plating knocked everyone’s socks off. Magnus could make a peanut butter sandwich look Michelin star worthy. He’s in every way the complete opposite of Alec, who is more about the rustic, home style food.

Magnus’s kryptonite, however, was his time management. He was slightly chaotic in the kitchen, and often put more on his plate then he could handle. Because of his exquisite flavors the MasterChef journey should be smooth sailing for him, yet he often found himself in the elimination rounds due to poor planning.

Today had been no different. Although Alec managed to sail through to the final ten on pure luck and good taste, Magnus had had to battle it out in a nerve wracking elimination round, one he won purely because of his attention to detail. It was a close call, however, and Alec could imagine it had rattled the other contestant enough to make sleep difficult right now.

Speaking of, Magnus is ben over the counter, brows furrowed in concentration. He’s mixing something that looks like batter, but it’s clunky and sticks to the spoon like crazy. Either Magnus is making something Alec’s never seen before, or his batter has failed him.

“You need some help?” Alec quietly asks. He hadn’t meant to scare Magnus, but the other chef still jumps about two feet in the air and swivels around faster than Alec can say ‘pancake’.

“Alexander!” Magnus exclaims. He’s the only one who insist on calling Alec by his full name, and even though it usually bothers Alec when people do that, he finds that with Magnus he doesn’t really mind. Magnus voice somehow makes it sound like the most beautiful thing in the world, while his parents always managed to make it sound like a name with too many responsibilities.

Now Magnus is turned around Alec can properly see what he’s wearing. The sleeves of his light pink silk shirt are pushed up to his elbows, while the bottom part is tucked into his tight black skinny jeans. The apron he’s wearing is rainbow colored, and has ‘Kiss The Cook’ printed on the front in an obnoxious font. It might be late at night, but Magnus outfit is still not doing under for what he usually wears. The only difference might be that his hair looks a little bit more floppy than usual, and that his make-up is not as prominent.

Alec realizes he’s been blatantly staring and shakes himself out of it. “Hi,” he says, a bit lamely, not sure what else he’s supposed to say.

Magnus startled expression softens. “Couldn’t sleep as well?” He asks, turning back to the counter. He dejectedly pokes the spoon, that’s now standing up straight in the batter. It doesn’t move an inch.

“No,” Alec says, but doesn’t comment any further as he sits down on one of the bar stools at the kitchen island. The kitchen at the MasterChef house is larger than any kitchen Alec has ever seen, and Alec grew up in the Lightwood Mansion. It has to be, though, since in the beginning it had to house 24 people who’d spend every hour of the day near a stove if they could.

The large kitchen island offers extra workspace, like the giant counter wasn’t enough yet. There’s two ovens, because why the fuck not. (Although Alec is very much guilty of using both at the same time once. He stress bakes, okay. It’s totally a thing.) There’s a two door fridge that’s so large that Alec’s pretty sure he could fit Max in there. Not that he’d shove his little brother in a fridge, but still. He _could_. The stove, god _the stove_. It’s the stove of his dreams, Alec’s pretty sure. He’s going to have a hard time saying goodbye to that stove when he inevitably has to leave the house.

During the day, the kitchen is filled with people. Between the challenges and filming they spend most of their time in the house, and there is always someone in the kitchen. Whether it is to actually make dinner, or just to practice certain dishes. He still remembers the two days Lydia spend trying to perfect her choux pastry and they nearly drowned in profiteroles.

At night, it’s usually empty. Alec sneaks down here sometimes, when he can’t sleep. Which is more often than not, because Alec is a worrier. He worries. About his position in the competition, about whether or not he has what it takes. It’s so important to him that he wins. Everything depends on this.

He’s the odd one out in the family. His sister might have questionable extracurricular activities, she’s still studying law and determined to follow in her mother’s footsteps. His little brother is a menace, but he still has promise. And Jace. God, Jace is not even blood related, but he’s still the star of the family. Ready to take over the family business any day now. Alec doesn’t hate him for it. It’s always been more Jace’s thing.

Alec has always been the family disappointed, more interested in a stove than school. He could bake a cake before he learned the multiplication table of three. He knew how to make coq au vin before he even learned a single word of French. His mother had frowned at him every single time he presented her with a dish. This show, this competition was his chance to show her that this was a legitimate career path. That he could make it this way, too, and be happy as well.

These are the things that keep him up at night, the things that drive him into the kitchen to bake until he forgets. There’s a seemingly endless stack of cookies in the pantry that the contestant joke about. No one knows how they get there, except for Alec. He’d never tell them, though. That would mean admitting he has a bit of a late night baking problem, and he’s just not ready to have that conversation.

“What are you _trying_ to make, by the way?” Alec tries not to put too much of his emphasis on ‘trying’, but it kind of slips out that way anyway. Magnus seems to take it in stride, though, because he smiles brightly at Alec.

“Cake! I think,” his smile suddenly falters a little, “I’m not. I’m not really sure. I just, I needed to do something, I guess. Sleeping was…. Not going great. Thought I’d bake something to keep myself occupied but, well. I’m not that much of a baker.” Magnus shrugs and grabs the bowl, emptying the contents in the trash can.

“Didn’t you make that great pumpkin pie three weeks ago?” Alec asks, and realizes too late that it’s probably a bit creepy that he knows everything Magnus has cooked in the past few weeks. He’s just… keeping track of the competition. It has nothing to do with the way Magnus looks when he cooks, like nothing in the world matters. Or how proud he smiles every time he serves the judges a dish, no matter how horrible it might be.

Magnus snorts, “Pure luck. You should’ve had that one in the bag. I tasted your pumpkin soup. It was like a thousand tiny angels were singing in my mouth.”

Alec hums, and doesn’t say that he actually had a bite of Magnus’s pumpkin pie as well, and that if he could only eat one dish for the rest of his life he’s convinced it would be that specific pie. He doesn’t think he deserves the praise for his soup at all. It was good, but not _that_ good. It could’ve done with a little bit of crunch. He should’ve made some croutons, or maybe served it with a crostini or-

“Anyway, cake’s not going to happen I guess. You have any ideas for what we can make? Or is there another reason you came down here?” Magnus places the bowl in the sink and rinses it off.

“I like to come down here at three am and stare at the stove for an hour.” Alec deadpans. “Sometimes I switch it up and stare at the oven.”

Magnus stares at him, like he’s not sure if he’s joking or not, but eventually he starts laughing. “I can see that happening, yes. Mind if I join you?” He gestures at the empty bar stool next to Alec and Alec nods at him.

“I usually go here at night to bake,” Alec eventually admits, when they’ve been sitting there for a few seconds. For some reason admitting to Magnus that he’s the secret late night baker doesn’t feel as daunting as he thought it would.

Magnus hums, “I figured it was you. None of the other contestants could make cookies _that_ good.”

Alec wills himself not to blush at the compliment. Instead, he pokes at the fruit bowl that’s standing in the middle of the kitchen island. An apple rolls off and he catches it just before it reaches the edge of the island. “We could make an apple pie?” He says, choosing not to respond to the compliment. Instead, he focuses on the apple, turning it around in his hands. “I know you’re not much of a baker, but-“

“Actually, that is a _great_ idea,” Magnus says, “And I have a recipe that’s perfect for this. So, your version or my version?” He takes the apple from Alec’s hands and looks at him expectantly.

Alec raises an eyebrow at that. “Depends on what your version entails? Because ‘my version’ is just a classic apple pie.”

“I have a recipe for a deconstructed parfait like version that is to die for,” Magnus says, leaning his head on his hands. “You know what, let’s make both. It’s clear neither of us is going back to sleep any time soon. Maybe we can learn something from each other.”  

Alec wants to deny. Deep down, he knows that Magnus is still his competition, and maybe sharing recipes and helping each other get better is not the best idea. But on the other hand, he likes spending time with Magnus. Magnus doesn’t judge him for his late night baking, because he understands. Joins him, even. “Yeah,” he says, although the voice of his competitive mother is scolding him in the back of his head. “Yeah, I’d like that.”

“Awesome,” Magnus says, smiling bright, “Let’s start with your version.”

Alec version of apple pie doesn’t really feel special to him. He’s been making this pie for years, and even though he tweaked it here and there, it’s still very basic. Magnus, however, follows Alec’s instructions like Alec is giving him directions to the holy grail.

“Raisins?” Magnus asks, raising an eyebrow when Alec pours them in the apple mixture.

“It’s based on the Dutch version,” Alec mutters. He knows peoples general opinions of raisins in food, and they’re not often positive. But Alec likes them, and they add a little bit of a surprise in his opinion.

“Well, I trust your abilities,” Magnus says, rolling out three fourths of the dough to place it in the baking tin. “You make this pie often?”

“It’s my sister’s favorite,” Alec says, sprinkling cinnamon over the apples, “I always make it for her when she’s feeling down, or when she has something to celebrate. When we were younger, she would sometimes make up excuses, just so I would make one for her. One time she convinced me her rabbit had died. As I was putting the pie in the oven, it came hopping past the window outside. I couldn’t even be mad at her, she was too happy I actually made it.” He smiles fondly at the memory.

“Your family really means a lot to you, don’t they?” Magnus asks, and his smile is soft as he looks at Alec.

“My siblings, yes. They mean the world to me. Me and my parents… it’s complicated.” Alec snorts dryly. “Let’s say my mom isn’t too fond of the idea of me wanting to be a chef.”

Magnus hums in understanding, “You’re hoping this show might change her mind?”

Alec nods. “I just. I hope that seeing me happy, seeing that this is what I really want to do, that this is what I’m good at, is going to make her warm up to the idea of me being a chef instead of a lawyer.” He’s never this open about his family situation to strangers, but he figures that maybe Magnus isn’t as much of a stranger anymore. They’ve known each other for weeks now, had plenty of light conversations. But this is the first time they’ve actually gotten the chance to talk without any cameras around, without _anyone_ around, and Alec really likes it.

“What about your parents?” Alec asks. He can tell by the way Magnus’s face closes off that it’s a touchy subject, and he’s about to tell Magnus that it’s fine if he doesn’t want to talk about it, but then Magnus starts talking.

“My mother is no longer alive. My father is…  an interesting case. He’s wealthy, and I never had anything to complain about growing up, but we never really had any family dinners either. Cooking was an escape for me. It gives me an out.” Magnus pointedly does not look at Alec as Alec pours the apple mixture into the dough covered baking tin.

Magnus rolls out the rest of the dough and cuts it in long strips, draping them over the apple mixture in a checkered pattern. “I’m sorry,” Alec says, because he doesn’t know what else to say. Magnus shrugs.

“It’s fine. I’m glad, really. Cooking has made me happier than anything else ever could.” Alec can relate to that. For some reason, cooking makes him feel less like a failure. If he can create something as beautiful as a mille-feuille, is he really that much of a mistake?

The work in silence as Alec puts the finishing touches to the pie and places it in the pre-heated oven. He turns on the timer before facing Magnus again. “Okay, so, this is going to take a while. Should we start with your version?”

Magnus nods enthusiastically and they quickly clean the counter. They move around each other in a comfortable ease that makes it seem like they’ve been doing it for years. Alec washes the bowls so they can reuse them while Magnus gets the ingredients for his version ready. The kitchen has an almost infinite pantry, that seems to magically refill itself. Alec knows that it’s done by roadies when they’re on set, but still. The idea of a magical pantry is a lot more interesting.

“Okay, you put the frozen apple juice and butter in a pan and stir it around until it’s properly melted and bubbling away, and I’ll work on the dough shards.” Magnus commandeers, and Alec willingly moves over to the stove.

“How is this going to look when we’re done?” Alec asks, as he sets to work with the task Magnus has given him.

“Right now I’m making dough shards,” Magnus says, gesturing down at the mixing bowl. “What you’re making is the sauce we’re going to mix the apples through. Then when we’re assembling these we’ll put some of the shards first, then some apple mix, then some shards again, apple mix, and repeat. We’re also making some caramel sauce for over the top.”

“That sounds amazing,” Alec says. It also sounds a lot more complicated then Alec’s version. He suddenly feels a bit inadequate. These are the things that are going to carry Magnus to the finale, and eventually, to the crown.

“Wait till you taste it,” Magnus says, eyes sparkling, “Though I’m sure your version is better. But this is some damn good deconstructed apple pie.”

Alec snorts, and wants to protest, but Magnus keeps talking. “What would you do?” He asks, and Alec raises an eyebrow, confused. “When you win, I mean. What would you do with the price money? What do you want to do after MasterChef?”

“Oh,” Alec says, and stares down at the pan. “I don’t really know?” He does know, but he’s not sure if he wants to share his dream with Magnus just yet. It always sounds kind of silly in his own head. “You?” He asks instead, and Magnus sends him a look like he wants to continue questioning Alec, but relents.

“I want to open my own restaurant. It sounds cliché, I know, but I like the idea of having something that’s all mine, you know? Something I built from the ground up.” Magnus looks a bit dreamy, and Alec can already picture it. The restaurant would probably be small, but open and light, inviting. Just like Magnus. He has no idea what Magnus would serve, but he already knows that he wouldn’t mind eating there every day. It’s Magnus, after all. The food is bound to be good.

“Me too,” Alec blurts out. Now it’s out there, he can’t help but keep going. “Our family, it’s always been about handing things down from generation to generation you know? The family business, the heirlooms. The older something seems to be the better. I just. I want my own place. New, fresh, something I can decorate the way _I_ want to.”

Magnus smiles softly. The low light of the kitchen throws shadows over his face that somehow make his eyes stand out even more, and Alec momentarily wonders what would happen if he would lean down and kiss Magnus.

It’s not the first time the thought has crossed his mind.

There was that time two weeks ago, where Magnus and Alec were both through to the next round and Magnus jumped straight into Alec’s arms, his laughter loud and beautiful in Alec’s ear. Alec had wondered then, too, what had happened if he’d just smashed his lips to Magnus’s. Then there was that time during a team challenge, where everyone kept yelling at Magnus until Magnus broke down and Alec had to stop himself from rushing over to kiss the tears away. They hadn’t even been on the same team.

Alec knows it’s a line he can’t cross. Romance between contestants isn’t neciserally forbidden, but it’s too distracting. At the end of the day, Alec and Magnus are still competitors. Alec really likes Magnus, and he thinks he deserves to win, but when it comes down to it Alec will do everything it takes to get the crown for himself. Kissing Magnus would only complicate things. Besides, Alec isn’t even sure Magnus would actually kiss him _back_. Sure Magnus seems to have that soft smile he only reserves for Alec, and Alec’s sure Magnus has flirted with him once or twice, but that doesn’t really prove anything. Maybe Magnus is just entertaining himself during the course of the competition.

“That sounds lovely,” Magnus eventually says, “Can you pass me the cinnamon?” And then that’s the end of that. They both start working in silence again, and neither of them bring up their broken families or their future plans again. It’s nice, though. It’s been a really long time since he was this comfortable around someone, except maybe his siblings.

Magnus cuts the apples in pieces and adds them to the mixture Alec has been dutifully stirring. At this point Alec’s pretty sure the kitchen will smell permanently like apple pie, with the smells both coming from the ovens and the pan. They’ve also started working on the caramel sauce, which produces a dizzying sweet smell that mixes effortlessly with the rest.

“Okay,” Magnus says, pulling the shards from the oven. “Now we can start assembling!”

“Show me the way, oh great one,” Alec deadpans, causing Magnus to laugh and almost drop the tray he’s holding.

“It’s really simple, actually,” Magnus says, grabbing one of the shards and promptly burning his hand. “ _Fuck_ , okay, that’s hot.”

Alec shakes his head fondly and gently grabs Magnus’s hand in his, leading him towards the tab. He tests the water until it’s lukewarm and then holds Magnus’s hand under it. “First rule of cooking: if it’s been in the oven, it’s probably hot,” he says, and Magnus huffs.

“See, technically I know that. Yet, I always seem to forget.”

“It’s because you’re too chaotic,” Alec says, and flinches at how harsh that sounds, “I don’t mean that in a bad way, I just. Whenever you’re cooking, it’s like you want too much at the same time. You’re doing like, ten things at once. You’re bound to forget things like that. You need to learn to pace yourself more, like. You know they give us pens and paper always, right? Next time, at the beginning of the cook, give yourself a few minutes to write down what you’re exactly going to do, and stick to that. It’s going to save you time, and prevent what happened today from happening again.”

Magnus looks up at Alec, and there’s a strange expression on his face. They’re standing closer than they have all night, and Alec is still holding on to Magnus’s hand under the stream of water. There’s a tension between them, one that yells at Alec to lean forward and kiss him. Fuck everything he’s fought for all this time. Is it really worth it if he can’t have love? If he can’t give this a shot? He feels his resolve crumbling, feels all his carefully put up walls crumbling down as he stares in to Magnus’s wide, sparkling eyes. He finds himself leaning forward a bit, closer, closer, clo-

“Thank you,” Magnus suddenly says, voice soft, but with a certain edge to it Alec can’t decipher, and the spell is broken. Alec jolts back and focuses all his attention on Magnus’s hand, inspecting it carefully.

“No problem,” he mutters, steadfastly ignoring Magnus’s eyes burning holes in the back of his head. “Your hand looks fine. And I’m pretty sure the shards have cooled down by now as well, so I think you’re safe, for now.”

“You’re underestimating my ability to injure myself,” Magnus tells Alec cheerily. Alec frowns at him. “Don’t worry, darling. I’ve never actually ended up in a hospital. Well. Not for long, at least.”

“If that’s supposed to reassure me, you’re doing a piss poor job.” Alec informs him, and Magnus laughs.

“At least I’m in good hands, if something were to happen,” Magnus says, smiling softly at Alec as he starts moving towards their abandoned work, picking up one of the dough shards a lot more carefully now. “Okay,” he says, acting like Alec isn’t turning an interesting shade of red at his previous words, instead grabbing the glass he’d taken out of the cabinets earlier with his other hand. “So we crumble a little bit of this in there, then we grab the apple mix and plonk that in there, and then repeat until full.”

Alec watches him work, leaning his elbows on the counter. “I still don’t know how you do that,” he says, and when Magnus sends him a confused look he adds, “Make the dishes look so pretty. Whenever I try my plates just look like someone actually puked all over them.”

“First of all, you’re selling yourself short,” Magnus says, “Which is quite the achievement, since you are rather tall,” he looks up at Alec and winks, and Alec gave up trying to stop himself from blushing long ago. “Second of all, you need to think outside the box more. The reason they keep telling you your presentation isn’t good enough is because it’s often too plain. You need to start seeing plating as an adventure rather than a necessary evil.”

“An adventure,” Alec says, a little skeptically. He guesses Magnus has a point, though. Maybe the reason Alec’s plating was often so utterly shit was because he never really saw plating as an interesting or important step before. If he could change his point of view on that, he could maybe change his plating itself for the better. “Sure. I’ll try.” He adds eventually, and Magnus beams at him.

The oven starts beeping just as Magnus drizzles caramel over his creation, and Alec pointedly pulls on a pair of oven gloves on before he pulls his own apple pie out of the oven, making Magnus laugh. The pie looks great, and they make some whipped cream while they wait for it to cool down enough to take it out of the tin.

“We,” Magnus says, as they’re sitting down at the kitchen island again, a plate with a slice of apple pie and a glass filled with Magnus’s creation in front of them, “Are awesome.”

Alec snorts, “You haven’t tasted it yet. Maybe it tastes really bad.”

“Alexander,” Magnus says, and points his fork at Alec, “Are you accusing me of being a bad cook?”

“I, what, _no_ ,” Alec backtracks, holding his hands up in defeat, “No, no, no, you’re great. You’re really great. You’re the shoo-in for first place, I’m sure yours is going to taste great.”

“You’re the shoo-in for first place as well, you know that right?” Magnus says, poking his slice of apple pie with his fork. “The other contestants, they talk about it. They think it’s going to be you versus me.”

Although Alec hadn’t really thought about it too much, he thinks of everything that could happen, that outcome would be the worst. He’s slowly, reluctantly, becoming friends with most of the contestants, but he clicks with no one as well as he clicks with Magnus. Having to cook against him in the finale, where only one of them can win would be the worst. Alec’s not sure who he would even be rooting for in that case.

“That’s miles away, still,” Alec says. It’s really not, since there’s only ten cooks left now and finals weeks is coming closer and closer, but Magnus seems to take the clear diversion of the topic for what it is and lets Alec talk, “Lets taste our pies first.”

The first bite of Magnus’s creation is like heaven on Alec’s tongue. The slight saltiness of the caramel mixes effortlessly with the softness of the apple and the slight crunch of the dough shards, and Alec is pretty sure he travels to five different universes and back in the time it takes to swallow that one bite. “That,” he says, and is promptly at a loss for words, “Is really, _really_ good.” ‘Really, _really_ good’ doesn’t even _begin_ to cover it, but Magnus beams so brightly Alec figures it’s enough for now.

“This is heaven. I’ve died and gone to heaven,” Magnus says, after tasting Alec’s pie, and Alec bashfully ducks his head. To him it doesn’t taste particularly special, but then again, he’s made and eaten this pie a million times before.

They eat in silence, although Magnus keeps making these noises Alec feels should be illegal. It’s comfortable, however, and Alec can feel himself getting a little bit droopy. Maybe for the first time since he got to the MasterChef house he can get a few hours of undisturbed, peaceful sleep.

He smiles at Magnus, who smiles back at him. “You’ve got some whipped cream,” Magnus says, leaning forward to swipe his thumb over the corner of Alec’s mouth. “Right there.” Magnus hands stays where it is, resting gently on Alec’s cheek, and suddenly Alec realizes how closely they are sitting together. Their knees knock together, and if Alec were to lean forward a bit, he could kiss Magnus.

Magnus, who is looking at him with wide sparkling eyes. There’s a certain wonder in them, like he’s really looking at Alec for the first time, or like he can’t wait to learn everything about him. It’s unnerving and exciting all at once. Their faces are even closer now, although Alec can’t remember either of them moving. His eyes finally pull away from Magnus’s eyes to glance down at his lips, and that’s apparently all the encouragement Magnus needs to close the gap between them.

Magnus lips are soft and warm, and he tastes like apple and cinnamon and a little hint of mint. It’s the best thing Alec’s ever tasted, and that is counting the earth shattering tiramisu he had last week. Alec’s hands reach up to cup Magnus’s face, and while Magnus’s right hand is still resting on Alec’s cheek, his left comes to rest on Alec’s hip.

The kiss is soft, gently, and it’s more of a promise than anything. They both know that right now, this can’t be more than a fling, can’t be more than secret kisses behind closed doors and late night kitchen escapades, but that’s okay. Alec wasn’t sure why he was so doubtful about this before, because this just feels so _right_. It feels like maybe this was why he was here all along.

“Wow,” Magnus breathes out, when they finally pull away, and Alec is glad to see Magnus seems as affected by the kiss as he is. His pupils are blown wide, and a few strands of hair at the back of his head are standing right up where Alec had been sliding his hands into it.  “Alexander,” Magnus says, like that explains everything he’s feeling right in that moment. Although with the breathless way he says it, the way his hand is still gently resting on Alec’s cheek, maybe it does.

“Magnus,” Alec says, and his voice sounds raspy, like he’s been running a marathon and he’s still recovering.

“Please tell me that’s not the last time we do that,” Magnus sounds so vulnerable, like Alec could actually tell him no, that Alec has the immediate urge to kiss him again, prove to him that Alec would kiss him a million times more if Magnus would let him.

“No, oh god no, absolutely not.” Alec leans forward, pressing their foreheads together, his hands still on Magnus’s face. “When this is over,” Alec starts, clearing his throat, “When this whole MasterChef adventure is behind us, would you, would you mind,” he makes a frustrated noise, unable to find the right words, “Would you want to go on a date with me?”

Magnus smiles, wider and brighter than he has smiled all night, and that is saying a lot. “I’d love to,” he says, and kisses him again.

(Alec doesn’t win. He comes third, and he’s elated. He doesn’t care about winning anymore. He realized somewhere between kissing Magnus for the first time and watching him become MasterChef America 2016, that he doesn’t need his mother’s approval of what he does. Not when there are so many other that love him, that care for him, that encourage him.

Magnus kisses him, in the middle of celebrating contestants and judges and family members. Streamers are still falling from the ceiling, and some land in their hair, on their clothes. The kiss is more the two of them pressing their smiles together, but Alec doesn’t care. Alec doesn’t care about any of it. All he cares about it Magnus’s smile, Magnus’s hands on his hips, the promise sparkling in Magnus’s eyes.

 _You and me, we got the world at our feet_.)

**Author's Note:**

> i actually hate raisins in my apple pie i don't deserve living in the netherlands honestly. 
> 
> ANYWAY alec's pie recipe is basically the one i always make (in my defense i only add the raisins because my dad loves 'em) but it's roughly [this one](http://www.food.com/recipe/dutch-apple-pie-omas-appeltaart-128732). Magnus's recipe can be found [here](http://bravegirlsclub.com/archives/15407) (never made it but it looks hella good).
> 
> i am also on tumblr [here](http://aleclwb.tumblr.com) :D


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